Page 50 of Lord of the Forest

Sir Richard’s head swiveled toward the door, beyond which Walter was waiting. “That is a grievous charge.”

Lancelot pulled at his shirt until the seams creaked. “As is the charge that I murdered my own brother for gain.”

“You’ve been poisoned, too?” Doctor Attewell was shaking his head incredulously. “You are made of stern stuff, sir. I should like to question you further.”

Sir Richard made an impatient noise. “There’s no time to make a study of him, Doctor. This case perplexes me. I should decree that it go before the Midsummer assizes, so it may be judged by a higher authority. But now I know not who should be the accused—Lancelot de Glanville or Walter.”

Lancelot stared at his hands, the knuckles white where they clutched the linen of his shirt. It seemed Walter de Glanville had stolen everything from him. If he lost this battle, the man would take Clemence, too. He’d rather be pierced by a thousand arrows than see that happen.

“From what little I recall of the workings of English law, only evidence or reliable witness testimony can resolve so serious a matter. If you could reserve judgment, Sir Richard, until I’ve had time to acquire evidence that might lay the guilt at Walter’s doorstep, I’d be most grateful.”

“You may not be able to prove he’s a murderer.”

“No.” Lancelot dragged his now-crumpled shirt over his head, then shouldered into his doublet. “But I accuse him of being a thief. Is that cause enough for the constable to search his house? And enough for you to detain him? He may send out for witnesses, if he has any, as I know the law wishes to appear fair.”

Derisive snorts from both the doctor and Sir Richard surprised him. Not bothering to lace up his doublet, he faced the justice of the peace. “You dismiss my suggestion?”

“Nay—’tis only your expectation that the law is fair, sir. We do our best, but ’tis no easy thing to achieve. I shall permit the search, and I would also wish to know more of this poisoning claim.”

Lancelot thought about the Black Bull and its proximity to Emborough. He didn’t want to set his neighbors against him before he’d even been granted possession. “I shan’t cast unwise aspersions. The incident occurred at an inn.”

“Most magnanimous of you. So, we’ll deal with the theft claim in the first instance. Then, if Walter is found guilty, we can think about tracking down his accomplices in the attempted poisoning case.”

“There is also an abduction that could be laid to Walter’s account.” Tracing the men who’d taken Clemence would be hard, but to save himself, he needed to amass as much evidence as possible against his stepbrother.

He wondered who had colluded with Walter at the Black Bull—assuming he hadn’t poisoned the pasty himself. Lancelot rather hoped he had, when he recollected that the punishment for poisoners was to be repeatedly dipped in a vat of boiling lead.

He rubbed the back of his head. So many difficulties, so many complexities. He needed someone who had lived in this world longer than him to unravel them. Sir Kester Bayliss had helped before and seemed a levelheaded fellow, so he could be applied to. And if Emborough was legally Lancelot’s, he could afford to employ Master Hardy to mete out the punishment Walter deserved. Brother be damned, family name be damned—so long as Walter was punished for the death of Paris, and his unforgivable treatment of Clemence, it would be worth it.

Clemence! She must be chewing her nails off in frustration, wanting to know what was going on. He stood abruptly.

“I thank you, good sirs, for your valuable assistance and insight. I must now organize my campaign against yonder gentleman.” He tilted his head toward the door. “If his house is to be searched, I suggest he takes my place in the cell while ’tis done so he can neither remove evidence that would incriminate him nor seed the place with clues detrimental to me. I hope we’ll meet again under more pleasant circumstances.”

Giving them his bow, he silently congratulated himself on his rapid improvement in manners and wondered whether it was something he’d learned from Clemence. Or was he simply remembering the behavior of a gentleman?

Walter lurked in the passageway, detained by the constable’s hand on his arm. He lifted his head as Lancelot appeared.

“A fine way to treat me, your own brother. But as you needed to be rid of one, I can’t imagine you’d welcome the other. As soon as you’re gone, I shall have your precious Emborough. And your woman, too. Your only inheritance will be a crowd-pleasing public execution.”

Having expected much this sort of reaction, Lancelot merely raised an eyebrow. “The courts shall decide what is to become of Emborough. Keep your threats to yourself—they mean nothing to me.” He gazed at the handsome face with its bitter mouth and cruel eyes. If the law failed to find out Walter’s sins, he would find them. And if Walter had killed Paris, there would be a reckoning.

“Lancelot! You look so solemn. Did it not go well?”

Suddenly, Clemence was there, her presence like the sun after rain, and his focus shifted.

“Let us leave these gentlemen to their business.” He hurried her outside, glad to turn his back on the smirking, devious face of his stepbrother.

“In some ways, I’m sorry I advised you to don your own clothes. Seeing you in man’s garb was… intriguing.”

She slapped at him. “This is no time for flirtation, sir. What happened in there?”

Briefly, he told her, then looked up and down the street. “Where’s Perkin?”

“As soon as he was dressed, I sent him back to tell my parents I’d been delayed, and why, and to appraise Sir Kester of what’s happened. Are you a free man?”

“Aye. The manacles will shortly be on Walter’s wrists, but I know not for how long. He must await Her Majesty’s justice, and we must do what we can to expose the truth.”

He gazed down at her, noting the fresh roses in her cheeks, and the charmingly tousled look of her hair. “I suppose this means we have only one horse between us now.”